Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter a Doctor of Physicke, and a Wayting Gentlewoman.
Doct. I haue too Nights watch'd with you, but can perceiue no truth in your report. When was it shee last walk'd? Gent. Since his Maiesty went into the Field, I haue seene her rise from her bed, throw her Night-Gown vppon her, vnlocke her Closset, take foorth paper, folde it, write vpon't, read it, afterwards Seale it, and againe returne to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleepe
Doct. A great perturbation in Nature, to receyue at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actuall performances, what (at any time) haue you heard her say? Gent. That Sir, which I will not report after her
Doct. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should
Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, hauing no witnesse to confirme my speech. Enter Lady, with a Taper.
Lo you, heere she comes: This is her very guise, and vpon my life fast asleepe: obserue her, stand close
Doct. How came she by that light? Gent. Why it stood by her: she ha's light by her continually, 'tis her command
Doct. You see her eyes are open
Gent. I, but their sense are shut
Doct. What is it she do's now? Looke how she rubbes her hands
Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seeme thus washing her hands: I haue knowne her continue in this a quarter of an houre
Lad. Yet heere's a spot
Doct. Heark, she speaks, I will set downe what comes from her, to satisfie my remembrance the more strongly
La. Out damned spot: out I say. One: Two: Why then 'tis time to doo't: Hell is murky. Fye, my Lord, fie, a Souldier, and affear'd? what need we feare? who knowes it, when none can call our powre to accompt: yet who would haue thought the olde man to haue had so much blood in him
Doct. Do you marke that? Lad. The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is she now? What will these hands ne're be cleane? No more o'that my Lord, no more o'that: you marre all with this starting
Doct. Go too, go too: You haue knowne what you should not
Gent. She ha's spoke what shee should not, I am sure of that: Heauen knowes what she ha's knowne
La. Heere's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh
Doct. What a sigh is there? The hart is sorely charg'd
Gent. I would not haue such a heart in my bosome, for the dignity of the whole body
Doct. Well, well, well
Gent. Pray God it be sir
Doct. This disease is beyond my practise: yet I haue knowne those which haue walkt in their sleep, who haue dyed holily in their beds
Lad. Wash your hands, put on your Night-Gowne, looke not so pale: I tell you yet againe Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's graue
Doct. Euen so? Lady. To bed, to bed: there's knocking at the gate: Come, come, come, come, giue me your hand: What's done, cannot be vndone. To bed, to bed, to bed.
Exit Lady.
Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly
Doct. Foule whisp'rings are abroad: vnnaturall deeds Do breed vnnaturall troubles: infected mindes To their deafe pillowes will discharge their Secrets: More needs she the Diuine, then the Physitian: God, God forgiue vs all. Looke after her, Remoue from her the meanes of all annoyance, And still keepe eyes vpon her: So goodnight, My minde she ha's mated, and amaz'd my sight. I thinke, but dare not speake